When it comes to ranking teams in the absence of head-to-head matchups, pollsters often have to rely on what is known as the eye test.
211 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
When a college football underdog manages to defeat a traditional powerhouse, that team is often referred to as spooky. Therefore, it only makes sense that Halloween saw a meeting between two of the Big Ten’s spookiest schools in IU and Rutgers.
Sports fans often joke about the existence of the football gods, omnipotent beings who sway the outcome of games. This is obviously utterly ridiculous because it assumes the football gods are just and reasonable deities.
IU football may be back, but its rich 10:00 a.m. tailgating culture will be sorely missed in 2020.
Nothing tastes better than an NCAA championship victory. Except for apple pie, perhaps.
October may be the spookiest season of all, but IU’s 2020 football season isn’t far behind. A murderers’ row of top-tier competition awaits the Hoosiers, who enter each game like an unsuspecting victim opening a creaky door in a haunted house.
After a tumultuous offseason that saw the Big Ten postpone its season before voting to play, IU football is scheduled to start its nine-game slate Oct. 24.
The Big Ten is back, which means it's time for IU to resume its transformation into a certified football school. Last fall’s eight-win campaign under head coach Tom Allen was a watershed season, but replicating that success will be tough on a schedule that throws test after test at the Hoosiers more rapidly than the university’s medical staff.
I worry that by mocking the various culinary oddities of the sports world, I come across like the boy who cried wolf. Mac N Cheese Balls, Apple Pie Nachos and Battle Red Tacos certainly push the envelope of sound dietary practice, but I survived them painlessly.
There’s something poignantly beautiful yet profoundly sad about a taco.
If America were embodied on a plate, it would probably look like the Apple Pie Nachos at Coors Field in Denver. Not only did the Rockies’ stadium combine apple pie and baseball, but it introduced the most crucial ingredient in our country’s gastronomy — unbridled gluttony.
Like the American flag on the moon or the boot prints on the peaks of Mount Everest, the Cheetos Mac N Cheese Balls at the Dallas Cowboys’ AT&T Stadium represent mankind’s propensity to push the limits of what is deemed possible.
Summer is drawing to a close, which means back-to-school commercials have yet again resurfaced like a bad rash. But in a year defined by the coronavirus pandemic, the return to academia looks awfully different, especially for collegiate sports fans.
A motley assortment of fans, media members, commissioners and athletic directors from 10 Football Bowl Subdivision conferences convene in a mansion on an isolated island at their gracious host’s request. That island is the fall of 2020 and the host is the college football season, though it seems to be absent from the party.
IU football resumed voluntary workouts July 31 following provisions from the university’s Athletics Medical Advisory Group. IU Athletics suspended football workouts July 17 after six COVID-19 tests for athletes, coaches and staff returned positive. Out of 480 total tests across all fall sports programs, 33 were confirmed positive.
If you can imagine legendary pitcher Nolan Ryan firing a curveball toward a blindfolded kindergartener fresh out of T-ball practice, you’d have an idea of what 2020 threw at the United States.
Every fan in America liked hoops a lot. But the coronavirus from out east did not. It loathed basketball for whatever reason. Thus, the NBA halted its season.
With the coronavirus trouncing the United States like the 1927 Yankees ganging up on a Little League crew, numerous states including Indiana have mandated that Americans wear masks in public. Naturally, scientific reasoning has been met with apathy and stubbornness from many citizens.
If you needed any more proof that professional athletes are not the same as you and I, look no further than the so-called NBA bubble. In order to finish its season under an illusion of safety, the league has sequestered 22 of its teams on Disney World’s campus in Orlando, Florida. Placing society’s elite in its own miniature city during a pandemic sounds like the prologue to a dystopian novel, but I’m happy to sit back and watch with the rest of the forsaken peasantry.
I don’t simply appreciate college football. Like the largest size available at Cold Stone, I “Gotta Have It.” Fall without college football would rival the anguish of a summer without ice cream.